


Shake it up.

by skyfallat221b



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, prompt is chapter title!, prompts from tumblr, whatever that means
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 17:16:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 16,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4146042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyfallat221b/pseuds/skyfallat221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a place where I'm going to put all the prompts and one shots I wrote over on tumblr :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. CLINTASHA + things you said too quietly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by so-very-hawkward on tumblr :)

She’s pale in her hospital bed. She’s all tubed up, and he can count about four different machines looking after her vitals. She’s got a bandage around her head, and he knows they had to shave part of her hair to stitch her back up. Her left arm’s in a plaster.

For all the times where it had been him in the bed, he finally understands why she worries when she comes in and sees him like this. It hurts. Because he knows that there was nothing he could do (different assignment, different continent) and he knows that she will get better. It just sucks so much to see her like this. Right now.

She looks younger. He supposes he does too, when he’s semi-unconscious in a hospital bed. She’s only 28, and she’s just a kid. (In his eyes anyway. He’s got over half her age on her).

“Hey,” he whispers as he moves closer to her, pulling one of the folding plastic chairs from the wall. They’d said no visitors, but he had only had to tell them who he was for them to let him through. “You look like crap,” he continues, and he hopes that she’s going to open her eyes. 

She doesn’t.

“Your hair’s gonna have to come off,” he continues, as he rests his elbows on his thighs. “Unless you wanna go for the Rihanna side shave,” he comments, and wonders if it would suit her. It probably would. He refuses to speak too loud, doesn’t want to wake her.

He sits there for a couple of moments, before he speaks again. “Came as fast as I could. I was down in Abidjan,” he smiles at the memory, “ran into both MI-6 and the Kingsmen. Can you believe that?” he tries to keep smiling when she turns her head a little bit.

“Pompous shits, the lot of them,” he comments when she opens her eyes and he sees that she’s got at least 3 different hazes of painkillers. (Or something. He doesn’t know.) He admires her for not trying to pull out the tubes from her nose, like he always does. (Flight reflex).

“I missed you,” he whispers, still as quiet as ever, and Natasha’s face turns into an amused scowl. 

“If y’wan’ me to hear, gonna have to speak a bit louder,” she says in a broken voice and Clint laughs. Of course.

“Sorry. Just pretend I told you how beautiful you looked,” and she huffs, which causes one of the monitors to beep louder than before. She was going to be alright.


	2. STUCKY + things you said when you were drunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by steampunksherlockian on tumblr :)

It’s a miracle, really. That the two of them are this wasted - Steve blames Thor’s Asgardian mead. He feels like it’s the first time he hasn’t got a cloud on his mind, and next to him, Bucky is sitting at the table, with one of the largest grins on his face.

It feels good. Like he could fly. He’s pretty sure Bucky feels the same way. They’re so wasted, he knows. He doesn’t care. He looks at his friend, and then laughs out loud because Bucky is close to falling head first onto the table. (Sort of happens when you haven’t gotten drunk in over 70 years).

“Bucks,” he tries, and then has to catch the giggle in his throat. “Bucks, look,” he starts, trying to not think about how ‘bucks’ sounds like ‘bugs’ and now he has this mental picture of Bucky in a Bugs Bunny costume.

“Promised that w’wouldn’t say anything,” and he remembers the promise. (If we get drunk, we don’t get sappy, alright?) But he really wants to say something to Bucky, but right now, he’s sort of lost it. “You’re so fun to look at,” he laughs, and Bucky lifts his head from the table and looks up at him.

Bucky’s a quieter drunk, but he can see the stars in his eyes. No weight on their shoulders. “Still look like that skinny kid,” Bucky snarks back, and Steve laughs before he frowns, before he tilts his head to the side. 

“Whaddya mean?” There isn’t anymore Asgardian mead in the flask, and he doesn’t want to sober up as fast as they got drunk (he is afraid of the headache. He’s seen Barton enough times to know that it fucking sucks).

“Used to be such a sappy drunk,” Bucky snorts and he throws his weight back at the chair, but builds too much momentum that he flips over and falls down. Steve is still howling when Bucky grips the edge of the table. 

“You punk,” he mutters under his breath as he watches a single happy tear leave Steve’s drunk as fuck face. And right there, he almost remembers how this used to happen back in Brooklyn, many, many, many years ago.


	3. PEPPERONY + things you said with no space between us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by clevervulpus :)

”Why didn’t you call me?”

He looks up at her, letting go of the pad he’s currently working on. The scars from Sokovia are still pretty fresh, and he knows that she’s just trying to help.

“You were off being bad ass with the company and dealing with bloodthirsty journalists,” he replies, and she tilts her head to the side. Her arms are crossed across her chest, and he knows that it’s not going to be enough of an excuse.

“That’s not a reason not to call when you create a Terminator robot, Tony,” she says, and Tony almost corrects her (technically it would be Skynet, not Terminator. But he doesn’t, because he knows that now is not the time).

“I didn’t want to bother you with it,” he stars, and she cuts him off.

“Bother me? Tony, listen to me,” she comes closer, and takes the pad from his hands, forcing him to look up at her. “Nothing you do will ever bother me. The bot killed thousands of people, we have billions worth of damage to Sokovia. But I’m not mad. Do you know why?” He shakes his head as she comes even closer.

“Because I love you.” Their foreheads touch and this time Tony doesn’t avoid her gaze. He looks up at her eyes and he knows that she will support him - almost no matter what.

“What you did was irresponsible and you should have consulted with someone other than Banner before you tried to create another JARVIS,” she says after she kisses him on the forehead. She looks down at the pad, and pulls open Reuters.

“I hear the National Security Agency is looking into superheroes and the Avengers Initiative, and it’s going to get ugly,” she pauses and hands him the pad. “When the wave hits, I want you to promise me that you’re not going to wander off without letting me know what you’re doing.”

Tony nods.

“Say it.”

“I promise, Pepper. I promise.”


	4. CLINTASHA + things you said when you thought I was asleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by an Anonymous user on tumblr :)

She looks at him. He’s sleeping, more soundly than he has in a very long time. And, truly, it makes her happy. She really is happy to see him like that. Except that…

She side eyes the bottle of sleeping pills on the side of the bed, and she pushes herself up to a sitting position. Clint doesn’t move. He doesn’t move, doesn’t talk, doesn’t even snore. Not when he takes those pills to fall asleep with, and she hates it. In the beginning, it was better than having wake up screaming, howling, yelling and kicking because of the night terrors and nightmares but now-

Now it just feels like she’s sleeping next to a shell. He’s fine by day, she knows that, and even though he says he is okay, she knows that he won’t go to sleep without that magic pill. She hates it so much. She’s tempted to get out of bed and flush them down the toilet, but SHIELD would just get him a new bottle.

“Y’know,” she whispers, even though she knows he’s asleep. He’s on his stomach tonight, head turned to the other side. She can see his back rise and fall to the steady rhythm of his breathing, “I miss you.” She doesn’t know why she says it.

“I know that the medicine helps you,” she starts playing with the edge of the pillow as she speaks, “and I know that you’re better when you get your sleep.” Pause. “But, I hate seeing  you like this.” She rubs her temple with her free hand, and smiles in the dark. 

“You can’t stay on them forever,” she continues, as quietly as possible, so she doesn’t wake him. “And if you don’t- if you can’t sleep without them, then-” She pauses again, as she sighs. “You gotta sweat the nightmares out. Please?” she pleads, as she looks at his back. She’s tempted to stroke him, and she’s pretty sure he wouldn’t even react, but she doesn’t want to.

So, she lets herself glide down back to a lying position and moves to lie on her side. 

She never notices that Clint’s eyes are open, and that he is trying very hard to keep his breathing steady. 

She doesn’t notice that Clint doesn’t take his pills but flushes them down the toilet, one by one, night after night, and just lies there during the night, refusing to fall asleep. 

She won’t notice next morning, because Clint forces himself to stay awake. To pretend that everything is okay. Even though it’s not.


	5. CLAURA +  things you said at the kitchen table

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by fearourfourthline on tumblr :)

It’s early morning. She knows Clint’s outside, because she can hear the constant THWACK of the axe against the tree stump he uses as support to cut smaller trees. She turns over and looks at the time - 6:39 am. So much for sleeping in.

As she makes her way down after having lazily pulled on her sweatpants (technically Clint’s, but he hasn’t worn them for years), she comes to sit at the kitchen table, where she sat up breakfast the night before. Cereals, bowls, spoons, even plates. All that she needs to find is the milk and to take out the pancakes Clint probably made when he woke up a couple of hours prior.

The kids will be asleep for a while, they’re not due to school before about an hour. The sound of Clint working outside stops, and he soon steps into the house, a cocky grin on his face. She notices how he is sweating, and probably wants a shower, but the moment he sees her his eyes light up. “Morning, sunshine,” he states, and comes over to the kitchen, opening up the fridge and pulling out milk and- yep, she was right, pancakes. 

As she pours cereal into the bowl, he kisses her cheek before sitting down. “So, what project are you up to today?” she asks, curious, grabbing the milk. Clint grabs a plate and uncovers the tinfoil from the pancakes.

“Cutting the old cherry tree down,” he answers, as he looks for the chocolate spread that Laura knows he’s forgotten in one of the cupboards. “I know that fruit trees just burn up with no real heating power in the winter, but I’m tired of just seeing it lie on the ground out there,” he continues, and Laura arches her eyebrow.

She knows there is something underlying, and why he gets up so early. And why he only falls asleep because he is physically exhausted. (She doesn’t speak about how he talks in his sleep - he’s always done that, since day 1 - about what he’s done and the blood he has on his hands).

“Alright, so, firewood for show, then what?” She pours the milk over her cereal and notices he stops for half a second in what he’s doing, before he goes on, like nothing happened.

“I don’t know, maybe finish up Lila’s room,” he nods at her, pushing himself up from the chair and heading to the cupboard to get the spread. When he comes back, Laura’s playing with her spoon in the cereal. “What’s wrong?” he asks, and she looks up, worried.

“It’s just. We never talk anymore,” she states, and she sees the light in Clint’s eyes go out. He knew it was coming too. He opens the spread, and takes a spoon to get some out onto the pancakes.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he offers, as some sort of apology, and she smiles.

“It’s okay. I know you need time, just…” She pauses, and he looks up at her. He isn’t sure what he sees, but he feels his heart break.

“Talk to Natasha, or Wanda, maybe?” she asks. “On skype. Or something,” she suggests, and he nods.

“I promise.”


	6. WINTERHAWK + things you said in the grass under the stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by fearourfourthline.

Honestly, it feels to Clint like he was in the Lion King movie. Looking up at a starry sky, lying on his back in the high grass, he stares up at the vast emptiness of space. Well. Empty. He knows, from what SHIELD and Thor have gathered, that galaxies exist out there with other races. Other monsters.

His hand instinctively go for his chest, where Loki’s scepter had touched him that day where he had been turned. He hears Bucky not too far away from him, ruffling around in the grass. If it wasn’t for the fact that they’re on a medical leave (both of them almost got blown to pieces when they where in Santiago three weeks before), he would have made a comment about being bored.

(His nose is runny again, stupid grass allergy. He’s kind of jealous that Bucky doesn’t have that, super serum and all. No allergies. Correction, he is jealous as hell).

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks as he comes closer, seeing Clint lying down in the grass. 

“Looking at the stars,” Clint answers, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Bucky looks up, and Clint isn’t sure if what Bucky sees is the same thing. The moon is a thin line to the South, and the stars are bright. He can even see Venus, if he squints a little bit.

“There’s nothing up there,” Bucky replies as he comes closer and sits down next to Clint. They’d come here, to one of Clint’s safehouses, together, because SHIELD refused to let Bucky go on a medical leave on his own. 

Clint huffs, half offended and half amused and looks over at Bucky with an eyebrow arched. “Seriously? You’re gonna go with the ‘there is nothing up in the sky’ when you know we’ve fought legit to God aliens and that one of our team members is an alien himself?” he asks, before chortling. Bucky just shrugs.

“Wasn’t talking about that,” is the reply Clint gets and his laugh cuts abruptly. Oh.

“Shit, sorry,” he tries, but Bucky just looks up at the sky again. “Sorry, I thought you meant-”

“Yeah, I know you did.” He seems sad and tired, and Clint realizes that Bucky is, mental age, ten years younger than him. Or something. Just like Steve’s only in his thirties, and Clint’s soon to be right past half his fourties. (Do not whine about it, Clint. Just don’t.)

“S’not true, though,” Clint states as he lets his head fall back on the grass. “Sure, every star is like our sun and has planets around them, but it doesn’t mean that there isn’t someplace up there where… well. Where they’re at peace. ”

Bucky looks over at Clint and Clint isn’t sure if he sees anger or misery. Probably a bit of both. “The past can hurt. But you can either run from it, or… learn from it,” Clint tries, and when Bucky rolls his eyes, he knows that he’s at least gotten the point across.

“Are you quoting a children’s cartoon to me, Barton?”

“So what? Still true,” Clint chuckles. “Hakuna matata.” He taps the grass next to him, inviting Bucky to lie down next to him. “Seriously.”

And, as Bucky lies down next to him, he can hear him whisper “Hakuna matata” to himself before laughing it off. “Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a screw loose?” he asks, and Clint can’t help but cackle.

“Well, that makes me Rafiki, then. I actually speak Swahili too, so I could-”

“Oh please, would you just shut up.”


	7. CLAURA + things you didn’t say at all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by fezwearingjellybananas over on tumblr :)

“So,” she says, as she’s folding laundry, “how long are you going to pretend that everything is alright?”

Clint looks up from the couch, where he is currently trying to fix one of Lila’s toys. Lila broke it the other day by throwing it at the wall, and the head of the figurine had broken off. He has one of those sad smiles that Laura knows only too well. “Until they are,” is his reply, and she puts down the shirt she was folding to come sit next to him.

“You haven’t told me anything,” she says, as he tries to move to the side, avoiding her contact. “Talk to me.” 

He shrinks at the request, and concentrates on trying to glue Captain America’s head back onto the body. It is one of Barney’s old toys. Over 30 years old. And Lila had broken it. “I’m fine,” he tries, and she scowls at him.

“I haven’t seen you without a shirt or a tank top since you came back. Obviously, there’s something you’re not telling me,” she starts, and when he tries to protest, she puts up her index finger. “I don’t care if it’s to do with Loki, or with New York, or with anything really, but you don’t have to hide it from me.”

Putting down the doll, Clint rubs the center of his chest with one hand as he closes his eyes and sighs. “It’s hideous.” 

“I’m sure it’s not.” Laura has seen worse - she’s seen him come home with so many new wounds, scars and other bruises, that she’s sure she can handle it. It’s Clint we’re talking about.

“It is.” 

Slowly, quietly, she picks up the bottom of the shirt he is wearing. When he doesn’t push her away, she pulls it up a bit more, all the way, and he moves his hand so she can finally see it. 

She knows he is watching her intently. Her reaction will define how he feels about the scar and to be honest, her first reaction is almost to let go of the shirt. It’s… she hates it. That much she knows.

“It’s different,” is all she manages to say. But she knows that Clint knows. The things she aren’t saying. What he thinks of it. What she thinks of it. He pulls the shirt back down to hide the scar again, and picks up the doll. Laura sits there, and tries to understand. It’s like a burn scar. Except… worse. She tries to say something, but fails. 

When Clint manages to glue the head onto the body, he gets up and after setting the doll on the table, walks out of the front door. 


	8. CLAURA + things you said with too many miles between us (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by an Anonymous user on tumblr :)

“Pick up,” he whispers. He can feel his fingers growing cold. It’s like when you donate blood, it’s the fingers and the toes that go cold first. Except this time, it’s not a donation. Quite the contrary.

“Pick up.”

The phone rings again, and he’s so afraid that she isn’t going to pick up. He just needs to listen to her voice. Just this once. Extraction’s on the way, he can hear them in his earpiece lying next to him. He’d pulled it out. 

When the phone clicks and Laura answers, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Clint?”

Her voice isn’t worried. Why should she? For all she knows he’s calling to say he’s good. That he made it out in one piece. Not this time.

“Laura,” he says, quietly.

“Clint, what’s wrong?” Damn that woman. She always knows when things are bad. Or maybe she just knows when he is in pain. He looks down at his chest, and he can still see the three arrows sticking out of it.

“Uh, nothing,” he tries, but every breath he takes is painful. He can feel and taste the blood in his mouth. He can see the pool of blood he is sitting in, too. “Everything’s perfectly fine,” he attempts again. “Just wanted to say hi.”

Laura gasps, and he can hear her start crying. “Clint, what’s wrong?” she asks, and he hates that he called. But he doesn’t want to die alone. If he dies, that is. Evac is only a couple of minutes out. But he just wants to hear Laura. Just one more time.

"Walked into a trap,” he explains, and he rests his free hand on his lap. It’s covered in blood. “Got shot.” He knows he’s got blood on his face too. He can feel it drying against his forehead and his temple. “Extraction’s on its way.”

He pauses, as he takes a deep breath. One of the arrows is nestled between his ribs and he is tempted to pull it out. Not a good idea, though. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Laura doesn’t say anything, though, he can hear her try and calm herself down. “How’s- how’s Lila and Coop?” he asks, and she tries to regain herself. 

“They’re good. At school. They’re good. Coop managed to start the lawnmower yesterday,” she says, and Clint almost laughs. ‘Course the kid would. His laugh, however, turns into a cough, and when he spits to the side, he can see there’s blood there too. Oh well.

"I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says, heaving for air. He can feel himself sweating now, and that’s not a good sign. His fingers feel numb, and his hands are cold too. “I love you, Laura,” he says, quietly, almost a whisper, and he hears her say it back. 

“I’m sorry,” is all he manages to say as he looks up at the sky. It’s almost dawn, he can see the sky lighting up. “I love you,” he repeats, and he lets his hand fall onto the floor next to him, pressing the red button. Evac’s gotta be here soon, right?


	9. CLAURA + things you said with too many miles between us (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by natrasharomanoff over on tumblr!

He can hear the tone three times before she picks up. “Hey,” he says immediately.

“Hey back.”

He knows it’s 4 in the morning back home, and he’s probably woken Coop and Lila. 

“You heading out again?” she asks, and he nods. Even though he knows she can’t see him right now. “Where to?”

“We’re heading out to Lagos in the morning. I just wanted to say hi.” They both know why he’s calling. They’ve known ever since the first time he did it - because he’d promised. He’d promised to tell her goodbye every time. So, in the case he never made it back, she would be at peace with herself. And him with her.

“You woke up Lila,” she replies almost as if she’s ignoring his answer. But he knows it’s not what she wants to talk about. Now she knows which news to look for when she roams the internet.

Clint can hear the crying baby in the background. “I’m sorry.” He’s standing, isolated, so that nobody else can hear him. He wishes he could tell them goodbye properly. “How is she?”

“She’s better,” Laura replies, and he hears the crying get louder and louder. She’s probably gone into the nursery to pick up their daughter. “Doc says she’ll be fine in no time.”

He can hear that she’s tired too. Lila stops crying as soon as Laura picks her up, and he can hear her cooing at the phone. A small tapping noise tells him she’s trying to get the phone. “Dada?”

“Yeah, that’s daddy.”

He feels his stomach turn. “Hey sweetheart,” he whispers, and he can feel his eyes well up. He knows he wants to come back. Lila’s 28 months now. He wants to see her grow. It goes so fast at that age.

“I love you,” he says, and he doesn’t know if he’s telling Laura or Lila. 

The cooing resumes, and he assumes Lila has let go of the phone. “She’s got your eyes,” Laura starts, and with a little laugh, she resumes, “and  your nose.” 

Clint can’t keep himself from laughing out loud. Of course she would.

“I can’t wait to see that for myself,” he says, and the silence that follows is the same kind of sad they always get when he’s about to say goodbye. “Take care of them?” he asks, and he can hear her nodding against the phone, Lila still cooing.

“Yeah,” Laura’s voice is on the verge of breaking. “Just come back,” she says.

“I promise.”


	10. CLINTASHA + things you said under the stars and in the grass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by natrasharomanoff over on tumblr :)

“You ever wonder if they’re up there?” His voice is quiet, calm. 

She turns her head to look at him - it’s a new moon so the stars are shining bright on his face. She swears she can see freckles when he lies like that, looking up at the stars.

“Who?”

“My parents.” Oh. Natasha knows that Clint barely ever talks about them, but she knows that there’s a reason why Clint wanted to go outside tonight. And look at the stars.

“I guess they are,” she replies, and turns her head to look up again. She doesn’t know any of the constellations except those Clint taught her - Orion’s belt, Cassiopeia, Ursa Major. 

She hears him sigh before he moves his arms up above his head. “I hope they are,” he says as he closes his eyes. She can hear his breathing - his nose is a little bit congested. It’s spring, and his ash allergy is acting up. (Even though he says it’s nothing. She can hear him snore when he lies on his back at night.)

“Why?”

He doesn’t answer right away. She looks over at him again, letting go of Cassiopeia’s W shape.

“If they’re up there, they can see you.” He chuckles, and she can feel that he’s trying not to cry. She knows today is the anniversary of their death. “I just want my mom to know that I found a nice girl.”

“Oh”. Natasha doesn’t know what to say. She looks back up at the stars. She doesn’t believe in human souls. She doesn’t believe in God. But right now, she wants to believe that Edith Barton is out there somewhere and that she knows her son is happy.


	11. BARNEY+CLINT 'You're bleeding... you're bleeding bad'

> **Anonymous asked**  ▬ _Platonic Barton bros: “You’re bleeding… you’re bleeding bad…”  
>  **WORD COUNT:** 574   
>  **CHARACTERS:** Barney Barton, Clint Barton, Buck Chisholm.   
> _

“Barney!”

When he heard his name, Barney couldn’t help but laugh internally. Of all the times he had wanted to hear his little brother’s voice, now had to be that time. He coughed, trying to raise his head, but as he felt the blood in the back of his throat, he had to spit before he could do anything else.

“Barney, oh god,” he heard again, and this time, Clint’s face came into his vision, and he couldn’t help himself, he just had to crack a smile. Of course it had been Clint who shot the arrow at him.  _Of course_. One thing he’d always wondered in all his years, going from army to FBI to bodyguarding rich mafia bosses, he’d wondered where his brother was now.

 

He felt his little brother kneel behind him, and pulling him by the shoulders, Barney suddenly felt Clint’s thighs against his back, and the sudden warmth fluttering through him indicated that he wasn’t on the cold rocky path he’d been standing guard on the last half hour.

“Hey, kiddo,” he muttered, as another fit of coughing caught his throat, and he tried to sit upright, but the arrow head embedded between his ribs caused him to wince instead, as Clint tried to stop him from moving. Then, he heard another voice. One he wanted to forget forever.

“Barton, what’s going on, why aren’t yo-” The voice dropped dead, as the two men’s eyes locked together, and Barney felt a surge of hatred and anger flowing through his body. Trickshot. That fucking asshole had been the one to pull Clint into robbing the mansion, then. “You fucking bastard!” Barney called, as he felt the pain across his chest, spreading, as his fingers started growing cold.

“Barney, you’re bleeding… You’re bleeding bad…” he heard Clint say, in a quiet voice, as Buck got closer to inspect the damage.

“Not bad, kid, you almost hit his heart,” the older archer stated, sounding almost proud.

“Shut up,” Clint barked back, as he let Barney’s head rest against his thigh, pulling an arrow from the quiver on his back and nocking it at Buck.

“Don’t ever nock and point an arrow at someone unless you want to kill them, kiddo,” Trickshot answered, an eyebrow raised, unimpressed. “You think you’re going to kill me now?”

“You just made me shoot my brother!” Clint cried out, as Barney felt his breathing grow harder and harder, as the taste of blood exploded in his mouth.

“Clint- Clint,” he said, quietly, putting his hand around the arrow sticking out of his body. His little brother looked down, and he saw his eyes wide in fear. “It’s okay, little brother,” Barney said. He could feel the cold spread through his fingers, up to his arms. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not, Barney. I shot you. You can’t die. Please don’t die,” Clint hiccuped, as he let go of the bowstring, putting the bow down.

“Please don’t. You can’t die now. Barney, you have to stay awake, you hear me?”

Barney smiled at his little brother. “It’s okay.” The words came out a whisper, as he closed his eyes, inhaling gently, so as to not make the arrow move. “It’s going to be okay…” The whisper was so quiet, he thought that maybe Clint hadn’t heard him.

When his brother’s embrace on his grew stronger, however, he knew that he had. And that’s when he decided to let go.


	12. Aaron Cross/James Bond + “Here, lean on me..”

When Bond had been appointed to this mission in Carcassonne, he had expected to meet more tourists than he had rogue government agents. MI-6 had heard whispers of a former Outcome operative sneaking around the medieval French city, and they’d decided that Bond was the man for the job. In other words, they trusted him to take on the agent if a confrontation broke out, and they knew that he would have what it took to pull the trigger.

Things, however, rarely ever went as he planned it, and when Bond realized that the information MI-6 had given him was outdated, and possibly also corrupted (“ _A distraction, Tanner!_ ”), he had no choice but to stand and try and fight his way out of a battle that was beyond his measure. He could do battle against many and most, but against the GIGN and the DGSE, who wanted to take him in, on top of the Outcome agent, he wasn’t too sure of his chances.

 

  
_(city of Carcassonne and Fortress)_

As he got cornered in the citadel of the fortress of Carcassonne, he saw his luck run out when the Outcome agent stormed down from above, two guns pointed at him. He could feel the pain shoot up through his leg, from where a bullet had shot through his thigh, and he put up the gun Q had given him, to show that he wasn’t completely dead yet.

“Don’t,” the Outcome 5 barked at him, and he frowned, as he saw the agent pull a backpack off his shoulder, pulling a tie from it, efficiently. Moving in on Bond, the agent pulled the tie around Bond’s thigh, turning the edges around each other, to create a tourniquet. The sudden pressure on his leg made Bond wince, as he heard some French yelled orders come from down under. Something about trying not to destroy the citadel, as it was a protected relic. Outcome 5 finally secured the tourniquet, and stood up again, handing his hand to Bond.

“If I help you get out of here and on your way back to MI-6, you let me go,” he stated, matter-of-factly, not leaving any choice for Bond. Knowing himself, Bond knew that either the agent would die before too long, or he would get away on his own, so he didn’t bother barking anything back at him. He pushed himself up, holstering the gun again, but the pain shot up through his back and he felt the Outcome agent’s hand help him find his footing again.

“You’re not going to make it back to London if I don’t help you,” the agent whispered, before a loud bang was heard beneath them. Nodding, Bond growled a, “Fine, fine,” before the agent leant his weight into Bond’s, putting Bond’s arm over his shoulders.

“Here, lean on me,” he suggested, as he started guiding them down some of the stairs they’d just come up from, and Bond made a move to stop, but the Outcome agent kept going. “They’re not,” he huffed, “going to come up this way,” he puffed.

“ _Lean on me_ ,” the Outcome agent growled again, as he frowned, feeling Bond’s weight shift, as he urged the MI-6 agent forward. “I’m serious, I can carry you fireman style if you want me to,” but that just made Bond laugh.

“Nah, Cross, I’m not going to let you carry me,” he stated, as he felt the tourniquet loosen up slightly.


	13. Clint/Phil with the last starter: “Look at me. Just look at me and stay awake. Can you do that?”

> **Anonymous asked**  ▬ _Clint/Phil with the last starter: “Look at me. Just look at me and stay awake. Can you do that?”  
>  **WORD COUNT:**  500  
>  **CHARACTERS:** Phil Coulson, Clint Barton, Maria Hill.   
> _

They were loosing him. He could see his vitals crashing, and they were crashing fast. They’d gone to him as soon as it had been reported that someone fitting the description of Hawkeye had been admitted to an ER in Jersey, and what they’d found wasn’t pretty. Phil hadn’t worried about Clint when he’d seen all SHIELD’s secrets spilled out onto the internet, or HYDRA revealed within their own ranks. He hadn’t worried about Clint, because Clint had never needed any help.

“Look at me,” he started, as he noticed Clint’s eyes flutter shut, his head slightly falling to the side. One of the SHIELD agents looked at him, trying to stop the bleeding that seeped through Clint’s torn shirt, and Phil gave a little tap onto Clint’s cheek. “Barton, look at me. Just look at me, alright?” he said, his voice quiet, trying to contain the storm inside of his heart and head. Clint’s eyes opened again, but they were glossy, and he hadn’t reacted to the pain in his abdomen since they’d pulled him out the ruins of his hide-out.

 

 _Damn it_ , Phil thought as he slapped Clint on the cheek again, slightly harder this time, managing to get through to the archer. “Look at me. Just look at me and stay awake. Can you do that?” he asked, almost pleading, as one of the other agents trying to push him to the side, to get to Clint’s eyes, using a flashlight to check the archer’s irises, and when Phil saw him shake his head ever so slightly, he tapped Clint’s cheek again. “Stay awake, Clint,” he said in his best Coulson voice, hoping that it would get the archer to react. But Clint was numb, and he didn’t seem to be reactive at all.

“Get him out of here,” Phil said as he stepped back, realizing Clint’s blood had stained his black jacket and the shirt beneath it, dampening his own skin. “Take care of him,” he said, as he stepped back, pulling off the jacket, holding his now bloodied hands out, too shocked to realize what was going on, what had happened.

They didn’t know. The agent Clint had been partnered with had cut all communications right before Clint had given the signal for an extraction, and then it had been like a black hole. Nothing. Not a single peep. Until someone had informed 911 of a burning building in the area where Clint had been stationed to take down a target, and upon further inspection, it had turned out that an explosion had taken out the East part of that building. And taken out Clint as well.

When he felt a hand on his shoulder, Phil looked up from his hands and saw Hill’s face, looking somber. “He’s going to make it, Phil,” she murmured, as she started guiding him back up to the Quinjet. “Clint’s made it through worse,” she tried comforting. But Phil had his doubts. Maybe this time… Clint wouldn’t make it.


	14. Dormer!Mockingbird: “This is gonna hurt…”

> **[vablatsky](http://tmblr.co/m9DBSNZVv4chF4F3ogXVmgw) asked**  ▬ _Dormer!Mockingbird: “This is gonna hurt…”  
>  **WORD COUNT:**  585  
>  **CHARACTERS:**  Clint Barton, Bobbi Morse, Natasha Romanoff.  
> _

“This is gonna hurt,” is the only he hears before the air gets knocked out of his entire body. He manages to push one leg forward to stop himself from falling face first against the floor, when he feels hands settle down across his throat, trying to choke him. Not too sure what’s going on - he only just finished sparring with Natasha,  _whatthehellisgoingon_  - he reaches for the arms to which the hands belong and pushing all his weight onto his back leg, he throws his mystery opponent over his head and down in front of him.

He coughs as the blonde hair reveals the identity of his attacker, and rubbing his throat, he can’t help but frown at her. “Hey, that’s not fair, you just saw how I got beat by Natasha!” he croaks, his vocal chords hurting from where Bobbi had held her hands, but she just pushes herself back upright an eyebrow arched, taunting him.

“Poor little baby Barton,” she coo’s, as she puts her hands on her hips, standing straight up, Natasha standing somewhere to her right, Clint’s not too sure. When he focuses and manages to breathe, he makes the connection between Bobbi and Natasha and he rolls his eyes, turning around to walk towards the lockers.

 

“You know, when I said I wanted to try new things when we sparred this is n-”

The air was kicked out of his lungs a second time as he felt a tibia against his shoulders blades, and this time he couldn’t keep himself up and fell down, face first, his hands stopping his body and head from hitting the floor. “Alright, this is how you want to play it?” he growls, as he pushes himself to his knees, feeling his fingers, stretching his shoulders. He can feel her come closer, and he looks down at her shadow, which is slightly to his left.

When her leg goes for his head, he falls flat against the floor and catches it swiftly, by the calf and the foot, before jerking it slightly to the side, forcing Bobbi to let go of her footing to avoid him dislocating her knee. She groans as she falls again, and he pushes himself up, not letting go of the knee or the foot, forcing her to keep herself upright by pushing on her hands.

“This is going to hurt, _my ass_ ,” he mutters, as he forces her leg to fold, as he pushes his own knee into her lower back, forcing his weight onte her lower back.

“You want to spar, we can spar tomorrow,” he says as she rolls her eyes, letting go of her, as Natasha comes close against. He doesn’t exactly relax as having both the Black Widow and Mockingbird right next to him isn’t the safest he’s felt in a long time, but when Bobbi gets up again, her and Natasha burst out laughing out loud, and he drops the face immediately.

“Was it something I said?” he can’t help but ask, as they both shrug, trying to get their game faces on again. He cocks his head, sighing, blasé, before turning his back to them, which causes another fit of laughter from them, but he decides to ignore them.

It’s only when he’s greeted with amused looks in the locker that he realizes maybe there’s something wrong. And, it’s when he pulls off his shirt that he sees that there’s a note sticked to it saying **“If found, please return to nest.”**


	15. “I’m gonna need more bandaids…” Clint and Nat

> **[the-age-of-the-understatement](http://tmblr.co/maMqmZ7N8hpYhcI4A0GW9xw) asked**  ▬ _“I’m gonna need more bandaids…” Clint and Nat (that prompt is practically made for clint)  
>  **WORD COUNT:**  634   
>  **CHARACTERS:**  Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff_

There is this thing that everybody thinks that Avengers don’t get hurt. They don’t get injured, they don’t need medical help, they’re super-heroes. And who’s going to tell them otherwise? Because the proof of the Hulk’s feats against tanks, the Greenwich battle that Thor helped stop, even the entire Mandarin threat taken out by Stark after the terrorist set some missiles on his house, not even counting the frozen-for-70-years-super-soldier who can jump out of glass elevators and not break a rib. That leaves the Widow and the Archer. They’re the ones that the press doesn’t know too much about, and that’s why Natasha is standing in front of what looks like a very surprised pharmacy clerk.

The reason she’s in this situation is because Clint got in trouble with some gangsters. That’s nothing too strange considering how Clint always manages to get in trouble when he’s not cowboying around with SHIELD or the team.

 

This time, however, he’s managed to crack some ribs, and the only reason why Natasha got caught up in his shenanigans is because he showed up at her place, pieces of glass embedded approximately every square inch, his bow broken in two pieces. It’s not exactly new - the broken bow is a part of it, though. But when she invites him into her flat and he sits down on the “Welcome!” doormat, leaning his head back against the closed door, huffing, she can’t help but kneel and look at the shards.

“Did you jump out of a window again?” she asks, and he nods, apparently too busy on trying to catch his breath to comply with an intellegible answer. She cracks a smile, before she pushes herself up again. “Stay here, dummy, I’ll get the first aid kit,” Natasha states, rolling her eyes, wondering what sort of mess he got himself into.

When she gets back from the bathroom with the kit and the package containing the bandaids, she sits down next to him. He hasn’t moved, but he’s let go of the bow which rests broken next to him. He doesn’t look too sad, but she wonders how he feels. That bow has been with him a long time now, since the last one got blasted to pieces in Kuala Lumpur. She plucks out the tweezers and Clint instinctively puts out his arm so she can start taking the glass out of his skin.

They’re quiet for a little while, the silence only broken by then gentle tingling of the glass against the bottom of the tupperware she’d gotten, until Clint leans his head to the side, looking down at his arm, already covered in bandaids. The glass shards hadn’t gone far, nothing a bandaid couldn’t handle, but he can’t help but smile wide. “I’m gonna need more bandaids,” he says in a soft voice, as Natasha looks up from what she’s doing.

It takes her another hour before she applies the last bandaid from her box on his skin, on his pectoral. She looks at him, standing up, hands on her hips, as if she were judging a masterpiece. From where she stands, Clint looks like a half symmetrical strange human being, with only one half of his body taken care of. “I’ll go get some more bandaids, and some peroxide,” she states, as she grabs her little bag with a purse and keys to the flat.

And, eventually, this is how she ends up putting down three boxes of bandaids at the checkout of the pharmacy. She shakes her head at the clerk, who looks utterly surprised at her, as she pulls out a 20$ bill. “I have a very clumsy boyfriend, you really don’t want to know,” she states, as she hands him the bill, and he hands her the boxes in a plastic bag.


	16. CLINTASHA + Masquerade Ball AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Vablatsky on tumblr!

“This costume is itching,” Clint’s voice broke through, whimpering. He wanted to make sure that Coulson would regret this for the rest of his life, and he was never ever accepting to go to a stupid masquerade ball dressed up as Robin Hood - with the tights and everything, he was  _seriously_  going to kill Coulson with his own hands if he came home in one piece from this op.

“Concentrate on your target, Hawkeye,” he heard Coulson’s voice break through into his earpiece, and he rolled his eyes. Of course Coulson would sound amused. He was sure that this was some stupid prank or bet with SHIELD, because he honestly couldn’t see why he had to dress up. He could’ve played his usual sniper role as usual. “She’s dressed up in a long blue dress, probably encrusted with diamonds,” came Coulson’s voice, and Clint’s mood shifted. 

Alright, he had to focus on this. He went through the crowd, realizing now that Coulson had probably thought about the costume choice very thoughtfully, and now feeling more than happy that he had: because as Robin Hood, it was okay for him to wear his bow and quiver on his back without raising any sort of suspicion. And, for some reason, it made him feel serene and happy about the situation. 

That’s when he saw her, and he remembered that this wasn’t a simple operation. That was the Black Widow, the one who had taken out one of Coulson’s former agents, and that he was there to put an arrow through her skull. Or her chest. Or heart. As long as she never left the ball alive, it was mission accomplished.

When he made his move to get to her and dance with her, however, it seemed that she was too distant. It seemed like she was doing it on purpose, avoiding him, and for that, Clint grunted so that Coulson could hear it. “Stay calm,” his handler replied, to what Clint rolled his eyes. He eventually bumped into her, and apologized in a clumsy way. That’s when she gave him the most predatory smile he had ever seen on a woman, and for half a second he feared for his life, but then his conscience told him ‘nah, too many witnesses,’ but just like that, that confidence was gone, because now she was the one pulling him aside.

He tapped his earpiece twice to signal that something was going on, and he heard Coulson swear.

Well, that was never a good sign.


	17. DREAMHUSBANDS + Masquerade Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by arejameswesley on tumblr :)

There were a lot of things that Eames disliked. Masquerade balls, however, were not one of them. Having grown up in a high class in England before he more or less deserted those grounds for another type of society, he had been to his fair share of these balls. Hiding his face to observe other people had been one of his favourite things to do, and it was probably one of the reasons why he had become such a good Forger.

You could learn so much from a ball. Once everybody dropped their masks, every single little habit they had made sense. Tonight, however, the person he had laid his eyes on was way too careful to be there for the pleasure of dressing up and putting a mask over his face. Cautious, Eames looked him over several times, dancing with some ladies to get closer. 

He did not know if the stranger with the strong brown eyes and slicked back hair was some sort of authority here to arrest him, if he was a rival here to kill him, or if he was just someone who was uneasy when there was a crowd. However, he was strongly willing to find out which of the three it was, and when the signal came to change partners, Eames did one of the only things he could think of: instead of grabbing hands with a lovely lady, he pulled the handsome stranger aside, interlocking their hands in a firm grip, forcing him to move with him.

“So, stranger,” he started, as they started moving, the stranger tensing up immediately, probably realizing that he had been made, “I can’t decide if you’re just a bad dancer and have a stick up your ass, or if you’re here for other reasons,” Eames stated, arching an eyebrow provocatively, before realizing the other man couldn’t see it because of the Phantom mask he was wearing. 

The golden lion mask faded slightly as the other man blushed, and Eames forced him to spin around, to show exactly who was in control. That’s when the American accent came out, trying to reply to him: “I’m here to talk to you about some work,” the stranger stated, trying to get out of the crowd, trying to get his hands free. 

“I sure hope you don’t mean the community kind of work,” Eames teased, as he allowed the other man some freedmon and let one of his hands go.

“No, I mean the  _dreamy_  kind of work,” the American replied, and that set Eames off completely. He’d gone back to the masquerade balls and the high classes, but they’d still managed to fish him up. Not even a week’s break from work, then?

"Who sends you?” he asked, as he let go of the other man’s hands completely, readjusting his mask and his costume, needing a little air as he felt the collar was choking him slightly.

“Cobb. I’m Arthur, by the way,” he answered, nonchalantly.

“And I’m Eames, pleasure to meet you.”


	18. CLINTASHA - Knocking on the wrong door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For stormxpadme :)

_Shitshitshitshitimgonnabelate_ , was all going through Natasha’s brain as she rushed up the stairs. For some reason, this wasn’t anything of relative importance to her, but it felt as if it had. This was one thing she had to do properly, to at least have a chance. She couldn’t be compromised, she just couldn’t: she had to do this, and for the job to succeed, she had to show up spot on time.

Looking down at the map she was holding in her hand, she gazed up, and acknowledged, that yeah, this was the building.  _Fuckfuckfuck_ , was going round and round in her head as she climbed the first stairs into the building. She picked the lock with a hairpin, and got into it, looking at the numbers, looking for number 17. It would be up the stairs, as she recognized the pattern in the numbering with 10 flats per floor. 

Pulling off her shoes, she climbed the stairs as silent as a cat, and tugged the paper down to her bag. She settled her hair, and took at deep breath as she knocked on the door. She knew that the moment the mark opened the door, she would have to knock him out or he would grab a weapon and try to take her down.

 _Comeoncomeon_ , she prays as she listens to the ruffling behind the door. A dog barks too, and she thinks  _shittheresadog_ , and her brain tries to calculate all the new possibilities with that new weapon / pet. However, as soon as the door begins to open, ever so slightly, she barges into it, hears the lock break as she throws her entire weight into the door, and punches the occupant so hard in the jaw that she barely has the time to react before he falls to the floor, knocked out. 

That’s when she realizes that, there is something terribly wrong. This is supposed to be a nice flat. Like, one with expensive furniture, not this… second hand junk. The dog is growling at her, she realizes now as she stands there, in complete shock, and she tries to remember if it said anywhere in the file that he was supposed to have a dog. It hadn’t. Rubbing her knuckles, she looks down, and when she sees the blond hair, she lets out a “Fuck me,” barely audible, and closes the door as she pulls the man behind her and into the flat. The dog is still growling, but she shuts him up with a glance, and pulls the body up into one of the chairs.

She sits down on the couch and looks around the flat, trying to figure out anything about the guy. There’s a bow above the couch, alright. About half a dozen coffee mugs, and some empty pizza boxes too. Then, it looks like he’s starting to stir, and she tenses up completely, watching him.

“Wasrongvizyou?” he mumbled, and she arches an eyebrow, not too sure. He rubs his jaw, and she sees that he’s fit enough to probably hold his ground in a fight and she wonders why he didn’t react faster. As she shakes her head, he waves a hand, and coughs gently. “Wait, n’ermind, can’t hear you,” he mumbles, as he starts fumbling for something on the table in front of him. Hearing aids, she realizes. 

That’s when every single piece of the puzzles settles in her mind: she’d hunted down an archer and expert marksman alright, just not the right one. This was Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye. Not Barney Barton, aka Trickshot. Awh, she was going to get so much crap for the debriefing of this mission.


	19. CLINTASHA + cop/person getting a speeding ticket AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Sassmasterradagast on tumblr.

When he heard the sirens’ wail behind him, he knew that they were meant for him. He thought about trying to make a run for it, but he frankly didn’t care. Not today, anyway, he’d just gotten off an important job, and the eagerness to return home had been the thing that made him push a little harder, a little faster. He waved up with his hand, to let her - because it was a her, he could see her sharp face in his rear-mirror - know that he had seen her and that he acknowledged her presence.

When the next opportunity presented itself about half a kilometer up, he pulled over, and turned off the engine. He wouldn’t say that he wasn’t used to it, but he instinctively pulled out his hands so she could see them, before she managed to ask him, and exited the vehicle. It would be easier, and it would force her to talk to him. For some reason, he wanted to talk to someone about his job (though, a police officer wasn’t likely to be the most adequate public for his talking about his job as an assassin, but still). 

She exited her own vehicle and walked up to him, her face strained, trying to make out his emotions. 

“Feeling a bit rushed, did we?” she asked him, and he shrugged, as he watched her get closer. She had beautiful red hair, tucked into a ponytail, and he swore that her eyes were as green as an emerald.

“I got some good news at work I was looking forward to share at home, is all,” he answered nonchalantly, as she motioned for him to raise his hands again. He could see her noticing the callouses on his thumb and index, but she didn’t comment. 

“Can I see your license and identification, please?” she asked, warming slightly up to him. He pulled the papers out of his jacket gently and handed them to her.

“Clinton Francis Barton,” she read out loud, “Why does that name sound familiar?” she continued, muttering as low as possible, but not low enough for Clint to not pick up on it. He shrugged again. 

“I dunno, maybe it’s got to do with the fact that I performed last night at that hotel in town,” he answered, blasé, as if it would help his predicament. The cop lady smiled at him as she registered his number and license.

“Ah, yes, that’s why. Clint Barton, the magician who’s also an archer. I wonder why you don’t use your full name, sir, it sounds a lot better,” she replied, as she handed him his ID back. “Shame you couldn’t make up some magic trick to make this ticket disappear, though,” she added as she handed him the fine. 

“Aww, come on, I wasn’t that far over the limit, was I?” he asked, as he took the paper into consideration. She shrugged.

“I don’t know, looks like that fine isn’t what’s going to stop you from living alright. But, tell you what. If you buy me dinner for the same amount on the fine, I might consider not writing it into your record,” she smiled, like a predator. He cocked his head, taking in the challenge.

“Well, when you say it like that,” he answered, smirking slightly. Yeah, cop lady - N. Rushman, as it said on her uniform - was definitely something he wanted to look into. And, for some reason, it made him want to get to know her better, because he was sure he’d seen her somewhere before…

 


	20. BARNEY+CLINT Brothers Prompt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "three paragraph prompt: James Bond is actually Clint's older brother Barney, he escaped from prison, managed to get himself out of the US and into MI6 in the early 2000s. He turns up in the Avengers Tower to ask a favour of what's left of SHIELD on behalf of MI6, but Clint isn't happy to see him, dun dun DUN"  
> as prompted by isthisrubble on tumblr.

It’s not like he came there to apologize. What he had done, and what he had not done was in the past, and there was no way to change it. The only reason as to why he was standing there, in front of that tower, was because MI-6 had asked him to dig up a favor from the remaining SHIELD agents. They owed them that, after the entire mess in London the year before. The only thing, was that M did not know that Bond had actually worn another name, and another past, before he came to Scotland. What he didn’t know, was that he had just sent his best agent (or at least, the most efficient one) to face his little brother.

James had not always been James. When he was younger, he’d grown up in a hard home, where beatings and belt whips were a thing, and he’d been responsible for a younger brother, after their mother died. Or was killed. He never found out. That is, until they’d ended up in the Circus, and when he’d found out his brother had a gift, things had gone downhill from there. Going to the tower to talk to Thor and Steve Rogers and Tony Stark was one thing, having to face Clint Barton’s wroth was another. But he couldn’t talk to one without facing the other, so he’d decided that it would be best to just… deal with it.

He had never intended for his baby brother to get beaten up so bad he’d had to stay at a hospital. He had never intended for his brother to get a concussion and some head trauma that left him partially deaf. He had never intended for it to go this way, and he knew that Clint would feel as if he’d abandonned him and betrayed him. Because it looked that way. And James knew that it had been that way. The only way to move forward was to look past those differences, and get that help from the big players in the Avengers. However, when he was greeted by an AI, which allowed him into the tower after having checked his background, and the elevator opened on a flying fist right into his face, he knew that things would not go smoothly and that he had probably just made a big mistake.


	21. CLINTASHA + Ikea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by an Anonymous person on tumblr :)

“Please tell me you’re not going to recite all those quotes from (500) Days of Summer while we’re here,” Natasha warns, poking at Clint who’s wandering through the upper floor of the IKEA shop they’d finally decided to walk into. They’d just gotten into it, and already Clint was making jokes about the names of some of the furniture (“Why do they call this DVD rack ‘Billy?’ and why the hell would they call that furniture ‘Expedit’ when it literally means ‘clerk’?). She just looked around, and finally sat down on a sofa (Karlstad), looking at the catalog, minding her own business when Clint finally plumped down next to her, heavy as an elephant. The sofa even creaked. "Jesus, Clint, you need to lay off the meatballs,” she commented, not looking up from the catalog. Bending forward, Clint pointed at one of the decorations. “We need to get some Trofast things, from the children’s section,” he stated, very matter-of-factly. Natasha sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“If this has got anything to do with the fact that Trofast means faithful, I am going to punch you in the nose, Clint,” she added, half smiling through her threat. Growing silent, Clint reclined himself into the sofa as he pushed the little table away with a black boot, apparently sulking. “I still don’t get why they have the silly names, because some of them don’t make sense, and some of them are places. Like, the Limmaren bottles for the bathroom, that’s after a lake, right? And Vemb is a rug, but it’s also a place in Denmark, and it annoys me,” he mumbled, and Natasha couldn’t suppress a grin. 

“Come on, Clint, you’ve never noticed the pattern they use in their names?” she asked, as she closed the catalog and folded it on her lap. “Like, most bookcases are occupations, like Expedit and clerk, you know, then they use locations for different things, beds and such, that’s Norwegian places, tables and chairs are Swedish and Finnish places… The rugs and carpets are Danish places, I think, bathroom stuff is lakes and rivers, fabrics and materials are women’s names, and like desks and work chairs are guys’ names. Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed the pattern?” According to the silent (impressed) glare that Clint was actually giving her, she supposed that no, he hadn’t noticed the pattern. Which was confirmed when Clint barked a “How the HELL do you notice things like that?” which made a kid turn his head at their direction. Natasha simply giggled. “Come on, we had that code-breaking work session with SHIELD a couple of months ago?” she said, with a sheepish grin on her face. “It only made sense after that,” she finished off as she opened the catalog again. Clint fiddled with the edge of a pillow, before sighing. “Still doesn’t change the fact that they called drawers, for cleaning up mess, ‘storage’. And that’s the lamest name calling I’ve ever heard of.”


	22. BOND+BARTON BROTHERS AU - Chocolate arrows.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Peterpandyke :)

This was not the way they’d expected this evening to go. They were supposed to spend the night getting to know each other. Like grown-ups. Well, it’s not like they failed, because James was sitting in one of the chairs, sipping on a glass of whiskey (a martini wasn’t strong enough for this), as he watched Clint half lying on the sofa, half his body scrambled on the floor, toying with some arrows, showing them off in a slurred speech that left absolutely no doubt: Clint was completely drunk. And, James was ready to take responsibility for it, because he’d introduced his little brother to his martini, and they’d eventually ended up having something like six of them, and while James was used to the liquor, it seemed that Clint wasn’t. Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that Clint had come home from a mission completely famished and had drunk on an empty stomach, while James had eaten in one of those fancy New York restaurants before going back to the tower to greet his little brother.

Anyways. Fairly inebriated too, James watched Clint play with the arrows. He had no fear for his safety, because even though Clint had trouble getting intelligible sentences out of his mouth, he seemed to know exactly what he was doing with the arrows. Especially when he casually mentioned that, “Ah, yeah, this one explodes with chocolate.” Dubious, James arched an eyebrow and brought the drink to his lips. He wasn’t near enough drunk enough for exploding chocolate arrows, but the question was: why? Why would Clint need a chocolate arrow? Needless to say, that the lack of response from James tickled Clint’s senses, and made him willing to impress his elder sibling. “You’re so boring when you don’t say anything, so here,” he stated, as he bent over, head resting on the floor and pulled the bow over from the sofa. James observed his brother try and knock the arrow from that position: feet and legs on the sofa, his back bending backwards down to the floor, head resting on the ground. His face stupidly red because it had been at least 10 minutes with the head down. 

And then it just sort of happened. A flash of black, and an explosion, and Clint’s laugh that just echoed all over the place. Putting down his glass way too coolly to be serene, James rubbed the chocolate away from his eyes. The arrow had indeed exploded all over his chair, clothes and face, and Clint sounded like he was going to have an aneurysm. “OH MY GOD JAMES YOU LOOK SO SEXY WE SHOULD CALL SOME LADIES UP HERE TO CLEAN YOU UP!” he yelled, as he pushed himself upright, trying to sound as mature as he could. James simply pulled Clint’s leather jacket - the one, precious jacket - from the other chair, and brought it to his face as Clint called a “NO PLEASE NOT THE LEATH-“, pleading, but it was too late. Getting up from the chair, James threw the chocolatty jacket at Clint’s red and drunk face, with a smirk on his lips. “You’re an idiot, Clint,” he stated, matter-of-factly as he left the living room, heading for the shower. 


	23. HAWKEYE + PURPLE COSTUME + CHEESY DIALOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by vablatsky: 3 Paragraph Prompt: The Hawkeye TV movie I dreamed about (including Jeremy Renner in the purple costume, cheesy dialogue, cheap special effects)... Challenge accepted? :D

Looking around, Clint sighed. He readjusted the bow on his back and jumped down from the table he’d been standing on to shoot at the oncoming monsters, pushing down the little skirt part of his costume. “Oh, come on, guys, that’s great… Just great,” he sighed, searching for his partners. Or at least someone alive. Then, a ruffle slightly made itself known, and he hid his face behind his hand. “He’s behind me, isn’t he?” he asked to nobody, and pulled an arrow out of the quiver, before turning around and in a ridiculous slow motion action, he hit the monster right in the head with a cheesy grin on his face.

Looking up and noticing a couple of eyes sitting on the construction, looking down back at his, he squinted his eyes. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he continued, as one of the monsters leaped down from where it had been perched, jumping onto him, and wrestling him to the ground, disarming him in the process. With a grunt, Clint managed to throw a punch at the alien, muttering a, “You just don’t get it, do you?” at it, before biting down on the knuckle of the monster, tearing green blood from it. 

Suddenly, a spear appeared through the monster’s chest, and the creature died flat on him, releasing its entire weight onto his body. Clint huffed as he tried to push it off, and when he recognized the heels of Natasha’s shoes, he cackled, trying to sound unimpressed. “My, my, Clint. What are you two doing?” she asked, and Clint simply groaned. “It’s not what it looks like,” he defended himself, before adding a, “Where did you get that spear anyways?” as he finally managed to push off the monster (that had covered his face and his amazing purple tunic in green blood). Natasha shrugged, handing her a clean hand, and as she pulled him to his feet, she smiled and said: “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”


	24. Platonic PHLINT + Star Wars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by acompesdivision :)

“You can’t feel the Force if you’re not trying, Clint,” Phil sighed, as he got up from the seat he’d been occupying for about an hour, trying to get his young Padawan to not hit the targets. “But, I don’t need to,” Clint replied, as he put down the light-saber, and looked up at Phil. “I can aim, I’ve always been able to aim, ever since I was a kid and you took me out of there,” he tried to explain, but Phil shook his head. “But you have to learn not to hit the targets, that way you can hide your strengths from your enemies,” Phil explained, as he crossed his arms.

“But I can’t miss. If I miss, I’m just like all the other padawans,” Clint sighed. Phil crossed the distance between the two of them and put his hand on Clint’s shoulder, looking him into the eye. “I know, but to be a Jedi, you have to know when to play your strengths and your weaknesses. If they find out you can’t hear if you’re not using the Force, they’ll play on that. They’ll be thrown off their guard if you surprise them with your incredible aim,” Clint’s Master explained, trying to get through to the to the young man. 

“And, you can’t become Romanoff’s master until you’ve become a Jedi yourself,” Phil completed, as he left Clint’s side again, and with a flick of his fingers, he made the targets appear again. “Now, I want you to fail hitting at least three of them. That’s half of them. You can do this, my young Padawan,” he stated, with a faint smile. 


	25. CLINTASHA + Farming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompter by Stormxpadme

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Clint muttered, as he gently stroked the strong mare’s shoulder. He’d brought some hot water with him, and a couple of blankets. “It’s okay,” he whispered, as he made sure she was alright. She’d gotten sick after the previous day’s harvesting (under the rain), just like he had: he was snotty, but he couldn’t help but wanted to take care of her, no matter what Natasha told him. And, speaking of which, her head poked through the stall. “Clint, I told you, we’ll get someone else to take care of her, you’re in no state to be tending to her,” she stated, matter-of-factly, but Clint felt stubborn. And there was no way he was going to let Hawkeye fall even more sick, since he’d been the one who’d insisted on plowing the field yesterday.

“No, Tasha, I want to do this,” he insisted, as he covered her with one of the covers. “It’s my fault she got sick, and I’ll be fine, don’t worry, go back inside,” he stated, as he saw Natasha come into the stall from the corner of his eye. Rubbing his forehead, feeling the sweat pearling on his back from both the effort and the fever, he sighed when Natasha offered a hand to readjust the cover on the horse. “I know you wanted to get the field done,” she added, with a faint smile. “We’ll wait for the bad weather to pass, and then we’ll sow, but first, please come back inside?” she asked, again, as they secured the covers around the horse’s belly. 

Getting the bucket with warm water, Clint put it down where the mare could drink from it. “Yeah, you go back inside, I’ll be right there.” When he wanted, Clint could be stubborn as hell, but it would take more than Natasha (and her little tummy beginning to show) to get him to leave their only horse for his own health. “I’ll get her some wheat, and I’ll come inside,” he insisted right back, pushing Natasha out of the stall, out where she had to go back inside to get out of the rain. “I’ll be waiting for you on the porch,” Natasha claimed, as she began to run from the stall towards the front of their little cottage, and Clint rolled his eyes. “Tell me, Hawk, don’t you think Natasha’s getting a bit too mother hen towards us?” The horse whinnied gently, and Clint smiled. “Yeah, I know it’s because she’s got a little baby inside her, but so do you. Do you even have any idea how I’m gonna handle two moms?” Hawkeye snorted, and tried to hit Clint with a flick of her tail, but he managed to duck under it. “Yeah, yeah, I know. God I hope I get a son, because three girls is gonna be too much for me,” he complained, clapping the mare on the croup. He left the stall and ran for the cover, where Natasha was waiting for him. “Why did we become farmers?” he asked, as he picked her up. She laughed when he carried her through the door, inside to the warm and dry room. “Because we were tired of being on the run all the time?” she answered, before kissing his lips.


	26. OOQ + Bondwho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompt :)

“You know, I had to hack into UNIT’s files,” Q started, as they sat, waiting for the debrief to begin. Bond rolled his eyes, as the young Quartermaster moved a seat closer, so that they didn’t have to talk too loud. “Because M wanted to know about the Doctor, and all that,” he explained, but Bond seemed quite stern. “He’s an alien with a time travelling machine.” Bond turned his eyes to meet the young man’s eyes. Sure, they’d been working closely together, but the fact that Q was explaining his mission in detail meant that there was something underlying.

“Spit it out, Q,” he finally growled, as he expectandly watched the face of the young man. Readjusting his glasses, the computer hacker looked up. “Well, there were some DNA files, and I cross-referenced them with yours, and I found that-”  
“I’m like him, yes, I know,” Bond cut abruptly, bending forward so that there was barely any distance between his forehead and Q’s. “Will you please shut up about it?” he asked, as he frowned, suddenly serious. “You’re quite new around MI-6, so you haven’t been cleared the information,” he explained, as M and Moneypenny came into the room. He ignored them, while staring into Q’s eyes. 

“Now that you’ve figured it out, I suppose Moneypenny will have to give you the file,” he finally let out, in a huff, as he rested back into his seat. Q, however, didn’t seem to get the message. “You’re? What? That’s-” but Bond simply gave him a nudge on the foot asking him to pleaseshutthefuckupQ, as some other agents came into the room for the debrief. “Alright, alright. But we two are not done with this conversation.”


	27. CLINTASHA + relaxing in bed a Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by wabby994 on tumblr :)

It hadn’t been too hard to sleep in, that Sunday morning. Of course, the night before, they’d both had their fun, after a day spent sparring, making sure that Natasha hadn’t lost any of her abilities with the recent gunshot wound, and making sure that she could still kick Clint’s butt whenever she wanted. When they woke up, that Sunday morning, with JARVIS letting the sunset slowly wake them up (at around 11 am, he did a sunrise simulation for them on mornings like this), they were slightly bruised. 

Instinctively, Clint pulled himself closer to Natasha, to inhale her scent, reminding him of all the times he’d cuddled close to her the same way, and remembering that she smelled as sweet as she ever did. Natasha groaned gently, as she opened her eyes, and started stroking his hair smoothly, turning her head towards the windows, to see the sun getting up, in a cloudless sky. Clint laid his head across her stomach, ear against the warm skin, listening to the sound of her body, reminding him that she was as real as it could get.

“Tasha?” he forced out, still half asleep. “Hmm?” Natasha answered, as she lowered her hand to his neck, and started scratching it gently, moving down between his shoulder blades, right where he liked it. If he could, he would’ve purred at the pleasure. It was his soft spot. “Maybe we should get up,” he mumbled, struggling to keep himself from flattening completely out as she kept on scratching him. He saw her smile out of the corner of his eyes, and he smiled back. “You’re not going anywhere,” she stated, as she scratched a bit harder, making him tense, before relaxing again. No, Sunday mornings like this one… They were golden.


	28. GENDRYA + first time he kisses her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompt :)

He wasn’t expecting it. He wasn’t expecting the ability to even take that step and cross the unspoken barrier between her and him. He had not idea he had it in him. But, for some reason, he’d been able to. When he’d hit land again, from Dragonstone onto the nearest harbor, he hadn’t expected anything he’d seen or heard. Dragons on the other side of the sea, the King had just been poisoned by his uncle, the King in the North was dead, and it looked like the entire seven kingdoms had been ransacked for anything good. 

That’s when he’d run into the Hound. At first, he’d thought he was going to die, because he remembered only too well the Mountain and his attitude, but he’d soon figured out that the Hound wanted nothing to do with the Capital or the people he knew there. He had a little girl (or boy?) in tow, and it was only when he recognized Needle that he knew it was Arya. She looked more like a ragged wolf now, a mad wolf, full of hate and horror. Of course, he’d heard about her elder brother. Her elder sister was missing too, and for all he knew, she was the last living Stark in the world. 

He’d come to her. She’d recognized her. The Hound had left them to go find some ale. They’d talked. About what they’d seen. He told her that it was his blood that made the Fire god kill Robb and Joffrey, and he said soon Balon would follow. Arya had shaken her head. Told him that it wasn’t his fault. And, for some reason, the look she’d given him, had broken every little feeling of wrong between them. Her lips tasted like sweat and smoke. Her lips tasted like blood and heat. Her lips tasted sweet and gentle. She was a wolf, and he was only half a stag. When he leans up again, breaking the kiss, she’s looking at him, with those bright eyes. And he knows why she looks scared. Everybody who’s ever been close to her, has been killed. Rickon, Bran, Robb, Catelyn, Eddard, the Septa, Syrio. But not him. He’d fight. He embraced her, and he held her against him. He wasn’t a limp stag. He could be a whole stag, and break everything that came against him, for her sake. And when Westeros had been mended, they would find each other again. He promised her.


	29. Mini Natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by f-romanoff-13 :)

“‘it me.” Pause. “'Ead hurts.” Clint looks up from the books he’s reading (for once), and locates the little girl standing in the doorway immediately. She’s bumped her head for some reason, and he can’t help but imagine her adult self telling him, flat out, like that, that she hurt her head. The little red-headed girl is holding a hand on her forehead, and she looks like she’s about to cry. Clint puts down the book, and sighs. “What did you do, Natasha?” he asks.

It’s not the first time this has happened, the past 8 months Natasha has been deaged to 3 years of age. She’s bumped her head, she’s scratched her arms, she’s burnt some of her hair, and she even got a nosebleed that one time, but for some reason, nobody ever knows what she’s doing except Pepper, and that’s one of the things that annoys Clint. And the rest of the team, for that matter (because, when she burnt her hair, it had been Cap’ who’d been in charge, and Clint can remember the sound of pure terror in his voice when he’d had to tell him that Natasha’s curls had 'burnt off into the bathtub’, which had made Pepper laugh out loud. “You’ll understand the day you get a kid,” she’d told him, and the rest of the guys had been as confused as him). 

“I 'it my 'ead on the dour,” she stated, matter-of-factly, as she walked back from where she came, expecting (and knowing) Clint to follow her. There was a wide open door, and it looked like she had been playing with some of Tony’s wheels and other contraptions, and hit hear head. “Does it hurt?” Clint asked, kneeling down next to her, gently taking her little hand in his, letting him see the little bump on the head. “No,” she answered, clearly, but he could see that she wasn’t so sure in her eyes. Rolling his eyes at her, he smiled and kissed her forehead, where the bump was swelling a little bit. “There, a magic kiss. It’ll get better now, but it’ll get even more better if we put something cold on it,” he added, as adult-like as he could be, and got up, putting out his hand so that she would take it as they walked to the bathroom. “Let’s see if Tony has got anything we can put on there.”


	30. VESPER/BOND + 10 years after her death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Vablatsky.

If there was one day that James wanted to go as fast as possible, it was this day. He could feel everyone behaving carefully around him. Eve, Q, Mallory, Tanner. They were all behaving like they were walking on eggs, and he knew why. After an hour of pretending not to let it get to him, he’d said fuck it, and had taken off, booked a spot on an Eurolines between London and Paris and taken a holiday. At least, in Paris, he could get drunk on some nice red wine, instead of rum. She’d have liked that. Red wine. Deep and full of savor, just like her. 

Getting off at the station, he’d decided to walk straight for the Eiffel tower, so that he could sit down in the park nearby, listen to the sound of the cheap souvenir sellers trying to lure tourists into buying a plastic tower, and smell the nice perfume of paninis and other snacks he knew they had there. Vesper would have loved them. Buying a cheap wine bottle at a sommelier he knew from past trips to the French capital (“ _Zis iz a véri nice red vine, Saint Chinian, deux-mille douze, véri goude._ ”), he walked towards the spot he liked to come to, and wondered how Vesper would have liked to spend their 10 year anniversary. 

He looks at the people wondering about: young students who have just gotten out of school, carrying their bags around, a young mother pushing her trolley, some souvenir sellers, a couple of joggers and… His heart stops for a couple of seconds. Is that her? No, it can’t be. He holds the bottle close, reaches for the gun against his chest, making sure it’s there.  _The bitch is dead and the job is done,_  he’d try to convince himself for ten years now. Ten years. “Vesper?” he calls out, and some people nearby turn their heads, wondering what this Brit wants. He gets up, abandons everything behind, and runs for it. A group of Japanese tourists forces him to stop, until they’ve moved away, but he’s lost her. “Vesper!” he calls out again, and he sees an ASVP agent turning his head. He’s half drunk, and calling out in a public parc. Not the cleverest move. So he sucks it in, and sighs, blaming the red wine. It couldn’t have been her.


	31. CLINTASHA + Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request by stormxpadme :)

“You’ve got to be kidding me, right?” Clint moans, as he sees what Natasha has brought him to. It was supposed to be a simple thing, no big surprises, just the one little pleasure to thank him for giving her the arrow necklace he’d gotten in Bulgaria. “Horses? You brought me to see  _horses_?” Natasha just shrugs as he stands there, completely flabbergasted at the situation. 

"I read your file,” Natasha just answers, “and I remember there being an entire part of it dedicated to your abilities on a horse,” she smiles at him. “Equestrian vaulting, if I remember correctly, had the comment ‘natural grace and strong abilities’.” She stops up, in front of one of the stalls, holding a strongly built Haflinger, whom she knew was used for vaulting purposes. Clint is purposefully quiet, sulking. “Oh, don’t be such a child about it,” Natasha then adds, as she opens the door to the stall and goes to pet the horse gently on the muzzle.

“This is payback for that time I asked you to demonstrate your ballet skills, isn’t it?” Clint finally asks, as he joins her in the stall, accepting his fate. He goes for the flank, where he strokes the horse, remembering the anatomy of the animal, from his days in the circus, where he’d trained to do some vaulting in case one of the vaulters got sick or injured. Jacques had been very clear: since he was already a great marksman, it would be even better if he could master a second art. Clint had just hoped that the team would never find out that he could give a decent show on the back of a horse. “Yes, it is,” Natasha finally answered, and Clint sighed very blatantly. “I’m only doing it if you try it too,” he then defended himself. Natasha smiled back at him. “I’d love to.”


	32. CLINTASHA + meeting as kids.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request by anon.

The first time he saw her, she was just a kid. It wasn’t face to face per see, as he was just watching some security footage of her. He’d been with SHIELD for about 9 months now, but Coulson trusted him enough to show him this classified material. He was barely 23 at the time, and what he was seeing made him both angry and, even if he’d never admit it to anybody, a little scared. Because this little girl, 14 years old according to the files, was doing everything just as if she’d been programmed to do it and it pissed him off. Her name was Natasha Romanoff, and she was one of the youngest members of the Red Room. Coulson had just asked him if he’d feel alright with taking her down, but Clint had denied: he was an assassin, for grown ups. Not kids. Not girls like her who had to appreciate the joys of being a teen, not act like they were trained hound dogs. What he agreed to do, however, was try and meet her, to see if he could sense anything different about her. Coulson was sure that nothing would or could go wrong. And if Clint detected malice or an unchangeable will to kill and destroy, then he might consider killing the 14-year old.

The first time she saw him, she was just a kid. She’d just been to Stockholm on an initiative mission, which had included her getting arrested by the police force, and spending a night in prison - from which she’d had to smuggle out some confiscated drugs and break one of the police officers’ hand (or any other member). She was sitting in the cell, looking down at the ground, focused on everything around her, when she heard the footsteps, followed by some Swedish arguing. Looking up, she saw him, standing out in his black leather jacket, his typically American sunglasses, and his denim jeans. He’d stopped up and was watching her, as he, apparently, ignored the police officers who were calling him names. “Leave us,” he then said, in Swedish to them, as he bent forward, resting his arms on the metal bars of the cell. She didn’t flinch, but her eyes remained fixed on him, like a caged animal waiting for the stick to beat her. For some reason though, she didn’t feel threatened by him the same way she did by the people in the Red Room. 

“I’m not here to hurt you, ‘Tasha,” he said, in a Russian with a slight accent. He’d learnt it during his last months with SHIELD and still had to perfect it. Languages had never been his strong suit. She didn’t move. She didn’t even blink. “I’m just here to talk with you, and if you don’t want to talk to me, I’ll just talk at you. Is that alright? You can nod if you understand me.” He watched her, and she watched him. There was something different about this twenty something American guy, something that felt safe. This is why she nodded. But she didn’t speak. “I hear you broke one of the officers’ hand? And that you tried to get into the confiscated goods section of the station after you broke his hand.” She gazed at him. He didn’t sound judgmental at all. She breathed calmly, trying to remember her training. “Well, I know why you’re doing this, and I’m gonna help you out. But  you have to promise me that you won’t say anything about me to those who train you, and that you’ll forget about me. Am I clear?” he asked, and she nodded again, prompted by his gaze. Bending back, he unlocked the door with the keys he’d pick-pocketed from one of the officers, and opened it wide for her to walk out. “There. Do whatever you’re supposed to do, ‘Tasha. I’m sure we’ll meet again sometime,” he stated, as smiled at her, before walking back up the corridor, to distract the officers while she fled and finished her job. Clint could hear Coulson in his ear, whining about what Clint had done, but the archer didn’t care. Natasha didn’t seem like something evil. At all.


	33. CLINTASHA + Clint as a werewolf (HP)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anon.

When she woke up, Natasha didn’t know where she was. She couldn’t remember. Her first thought went to Clint. They had been together when the other wizards had ambushed them. Her hand closed on thin air as she opened her eyes, trying to get to her wand, but being unable to, as she was bound with rope. Old, plain, boring Muggle rope. She kicked slightly, but felt uneasy. Her eyes fell on the cage in front of her. There was a body lying down in there, but she didn’t recognize it. She heard some footsteps, as she tried to master her surroundings. “Where’s Clint?” she asked. She tried to turn around, but she’d been paralyzed by a curse. She could still remember the effects of the Cruciatus curse, and she could remember Clint’s scream. Clint never screamed. Ever. What had they done to him? Then, a shadow moved from the window to her right, and she saw a full moon, clouded by mist, clear as a torch. A cackle behind her made her shiver. The light fell on the cage, and the body stirred. “Tell me that’s not him in the cage,” she tried. When the face of Bellatrix Lestrange appeared before her, all of her instincts kicked in. She felt her heart turn to ice at the sight of the witch. “What did you do to him?” she asked, and Bellatrix smiled. 

“Oh, we had a bit of fun with him,” she stated, smiling wryly, as Clint stirred in the cage. The moonlight shining upon him made him sweat, Natasha could see it. She saw him struggle, keeping as quiet as he could, fighting the infliction. Bellatrix smiled, and giggled as Natasha tried to get out of the rope. Stupid rope. Natasha discerned Clint’s body, as it twitched and broke, and the sound of the bones breaking - she wondered how he hadn’t screamed already. And then, she saw the body expand, and she heard Bellatrix laugh at her, mocking her, as she moved towards the exit. Natasha bit her lower lip as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I swear to you, I will kill you for this,” she stated, focused on the cage in front of her. Bellatrix giggled. “Sure you will, if he doesn’t kill you first!” she answered, in a sing-song voice before disappearing, leaving the red-headed Auror to her fate as Clint - no, as the wolf - broke out of the cage. She watched the three Death Eaters who still hadn’t moved or disappeared, and jumped to her feet, breaking out of the chair like her Muggle training had taught her to do. At the same time, the wolf broke the metal bars from their wooden holders, and howled at the moon, a sound that Natasha knew only too well from her childhood, bringing her back to the time where the Red Room would taunt her with a werewolf bite if she failed a mission. What they’d done to Clint was unforgivable. And she was going to kill them all.

It took her a couple of seconds to break free from the rope, and as she commandeered one of the Death Eater’s wands, she stunned them both - she would kill them later if Clint didn’t do it himself. She stretched herself up, and when she realized it was too quiet to be safe, she slowly, very slowly, turned around, to see that her partner was staring at her with blue white eyes, slowly measuring her up to attack her. She could recognize Clint’s body proportions in the wolf, and his fur was the same color as his hair but… She felt frozen with fear. It reminded her of what Loki, that wizard from the North had told her. ‘ _Not until I make him kill you! Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear! And then he’ll wake just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams, I’ll split his skull!_ ’ Maybe these Death Eaters had something to do with him. She took a deep breath, and then another, hoping the wolf wouldn’t notice her. But his calculating eyes were watching her every movement. Until one of the stunned Death Eaters moved, as the curse dissolved, and within the blink of an eye, the wolf was on him. Natasha didn’t take too long to cast an “Accio wand!” followed by an “Accio Clint’s wand!” to secure both of them. And, when the wolf rose from the bloody body beneath it, she felt her heart break at the blood on his lips and teeth. “I’m sorry, Clint,” she whispered, as she disapparated, leaving the wolf alone on the premises. 


	34. HANSEL/GRETEL + ancestors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by iammuchlikeabulldozer :D

“So, you’re saying you’re my ancestors?” Clint can’t help but feel a little bit weird. Not only did a carbon copy of himself bump into his life, but said carbon copy had brought along his sister, and now, for some reason, they were all sitting around one of those plastic tables you can fold together and take with you. It’s not like him and Natasha had wanted to get away from New York and SHIELD for a while, and then something like this goes and happens. He just shakes his head, as he tries to understand what this guy - Hansel, apparently - has just told him. Natasha sits next to him and shares an amused look with the sister, Gretel. "Yeah, we are. It’s a long story, though,“ Hansel starts, and Clint hides his face behind his hands and whines. He doesn’t want to have anything to do with magic right now, but the fact that apparently Hansel and Gretel were, a) real; b) his ancestors; c) still alive, is a little bit too much to take in at first glance. Natasha looks like she hasn’t really taken any side on the matter yet. But, then again, her and Gretel have the same vibe, so Clint doesn’t think it’s weird that Natasha hasn’t said anything yet that might disturb him. "Basically, Gretel here’s a white witch, I’m her brother, we have white witch blood in us, so we can’t die unless we’re beheaded or burnt on the pyre. Which, thankfully, still hasn’t happened.”

Clint raises an eyebrow from behind his hands and sighs very loudly. “But this is too weird, man,” he explains, as he lowers his hands and taps them on the plastic table, making the tupperwares and the thermos shake gently. “I feel like I’m looking into a mirror that’s not repeating what I’m doing,” he states, and Natasha giggles. “Don’t, Clint, Hansel here is nothing like you. You put way too much hair gel in your hair,” she adds, and Gretel smiles. Well, apparently the witch hunters have adapted well into modern society because the don’t react to anything around them. Clint rubs his eyes with one hand, as he tries to understand. “But, I still don’t get why you’ve found me now. What am I supposed to do? Help you out kill a witch?” he asks, and Hansel leans forward, gently, smiling at him. “No, you’re supposed to help us catch a God.”

“NO!” Natasha giggles when Clint slams his hand onto the table, and points at Hansel. “I’m NOT gonna go hunt a God, because one already messed with my head way too much, and besides, he’s way too far away to be messed with anyways.” There’s a little moment of silence, as the three others watch Clint carefully, and then Hansel breaks his pokerface and begins laughing out loud, soon followed by Gretel who covers her mouth. Even Natasha has to bite her lower lip not to laugh too visibly at him. “Oh my god, you should’ve seen your face, Clint. It was brilliant,” Hansel exclaims, before grabbing his beer and handing it to the archer. “We’re just poking at you to make sure you’re a descendant, that’s all. Don’t worry.”


End file.
